Today I lost my glasses. I wait for your letter every day.
As I peeked through the mail box slot, glasses on the tip of my nose, I lost awareness of myself and the glasses dropped. Just for a moment, but a moment was enough. As they landed metal and glass on the stone floor, even before the crack sounded, my body - having already realised it - gave a gasp.
Everyday, I look in the mail box, through the pigeonhole, to see if anything has arrived. A new pair, neatly wrapped in a brown box- instead.
TO PHASE
A thing made is time passed.
It has a shape, it has its own kind of rhythm, yet it has pace. It has time passing.
It has my heart too, encaged in a steel aviary, automated with an on/off button. Feathers flutter. Fall like red ruby.
August 14, 2024
MOMENTS
A moment:
You think I'm talking about people as if they have no personality. I talk about people as if they were objects, occupying space on equal terms with each other. But do they?
Another moment:
A four-limbed mass of cells comes rushing toward me, changing colors. I don't understand what it is. It can be experienced as colors without form, in plural and in singular, mostly plural.
A third moment:
I hear sounds coming from the mass. You say it's a person. It’s laughing, you say. I listen and think that it reminds me of a babbling brook. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle. A fish just pops its little shiny head up, blinks its eyes, and with a leap, its glistening body disappears.
A fourth moment:
I stand completely still, as if I were on guard. The cells rush forward again, and in an instant, it leaps on me; I am now embraced by colored cells. A warm and soft silky mass sticks to my skin. Warmth washes over me, wet lips against my skin. I no longer know who is what, what is who, I am no longer alone with my form without colors.
August 13, 2024
COLOURS
First the turquoise blue, then the one that resembles a deep sea in the darkest month of the year, which in the morning turns into purple, a moment before the orange arises against the light baby blue.
I thought about you for a long time, about it, about the places in and around you, and have come to the conclusion that it is not the human in you I speak to, but the space you occupy in the world. A kind of buzzing existence that does not easily fade.
It is now clear to me. It is also the place where the paint has been removed again and again or where it has been painted over the most times. In the morning light, a nearly metallic resonance emerges from the fusion of tones that sound like a rare Chopin while the sun rises behind the peculiar mountains—or is it the frames?
August 12, 2024
METRICS
Long and lingering, they hang, supported only by a glance. It won't be long now, until what? Until autumn. The head, arms, feet, light.
The blue sky has that deep tone that makes the shadows stretch longer, and from the sea's perspective, it’s merely a gaze.
Silence has descended. After days of talk and clamor. Constantly there was more to do, something to clean, water to change.
The sky is still blue, so it can’t have been that long, she says. He laughs and says something I don’t understand.
The white on the wave that isn’t just a gaze, the foam, looks like whipped cream. I let my hair flow through it. Feel the salt against my skin and the inner siren sings with joy.
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